The Meeting
by ArgentNoelle
Summary: "Do not think to escape," Loki hissed, stepping back. "Even if you killed me, what then? Will you make your way in the wilderness? You would be dead before the day is through. You would be dead now, were it not for me."


Inspired by the story Freeze, by Hickumu (mostly by the summary actually): _Loki escapes imprisonment in Asgard, and flees to Jotunheim. Time passes, and he thinks Asgard means to leave him exiled. But one day, in his lonely wanderings, he comes across Thor, half dead in the snow. Against his better judgment, Loki reaches out to save the man who was once his brother. Thor doesn't recognize him, at first, and matters spiral out of control from there._

**Link:** www. [fanfiction dot net] / s/ 9618564/ 1/ Freeze

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Wind blows gently and coldly, flurries of snow sweeping up from the deep drifts on the sides of the mountains. The range is wide, with no pass between, and empty of all but a few solitary animals. Loki walks along the slopes, hidden between sharp crags of rocks, snow settling on him without melting.

He has no need to hurry—the fresh carcass he carries has already frozen, and the cave in which he dwells is bare and dark, hardly more than a place to sleep at night. He turns to climb up the steep crack in the mountains and begin his ascent.

The warmblood is easy to find, even half-dead as it is now. Halfway up the path he relents to curiosity, setting the corpse on the ground, and giving it a stern look, as though it might wander off—indeed, if he leaves it too long alone it would soon be pounced upon by other predators—but he has no intentions of doing that.

The heartbeat soon comes to his ears; slower than they ought to be. His brow furrows, head tilting slightly to the side. It isn't injured—there is no smell of blood, and the wind is coming from that direction.

When he finds it, it is lying prostrate on the ground, snow already piling upon the red cloak, bright and strange amid the whites and blues and greys of the mountains.

He sinks to his knees and watches. He has not seen another living being in years; not since he escaped his prison in Asgard and made his long way here—he has no need for the physical comforts of others, and that _sentiment_ would rule him—the thought is laughable.

With a dispassioned eye, he looks upon one he had never thought to see again. Thor's breaths are slow, and he is insensible. Dying, perhaps. The climate of Jotunheim is not kind to those of other realms.

Snow gathers in his golden hair.

He wonders if they have found him. Surely stumbling upon Thor so close to his dwelling can be no coincidence; on the other hand, if his whereabouts had been known, they would not have trusted his recapture with but a single warrior. And yet, if it was not to bring him back, why is Thor here at all?

The carcass down below and the prince's own shortening breaths bid him make his decision quickly. And yet he is not sure he can make _any_ decision—he is not sure he even wants to. He watches Thor's stiff fingers lying splayed across the ground and knows he could sit here and let the man who had once been his brother die.

He could watch, and it would not bother him overmuch.

And yet… the thought that he holds the prince's life in his hands is appealing, and one he would keep for yet a while longer. Great fortune like this should not be thrown away when something more could be gained by the keeping.

He steps forward, and bends down to drag the big frame of the Asgardian up, careful not to touch his skin. He is not sure what would happen if he did—whether he would injure Thor further, or, perhaps, begin to change form against his will—but he does not want to risk it.

Thor is heavy to carry, feet dragging on the ground despite his best efforts. He makes his back down to the spoils of his hunt, waving away the few watchful birds that have gathered, and picks it up as well. The path up to the cave is hard to make, with such unwieldy burdens, and he has to stop many times before he reaches the entrance to the cave. He sets the corpse down for the moment and lays Thor out upon the ground. He still has not woken. Loki squats beside him, reaching in himself for his magic, which comes at a touch—almost as if eager. He has not used it in an age, and the simple spell makes him snarl with his efforts to sustain it as he pours energy into the sleeping body before him. Thor shifts, at last—and his eyelids flutter; but he does not wake, only falls into a more natural sleep. He would not have to fear frostbite yet, not with the warmth of magic coursing through him, though it might be a problem later.

Loki takes the animal outside and back down the path before he sets to with his knife. By the time his work is done, the shadows have lengthened, the wind grown colder.

He walks back into the cave.

"So you're awake," he says quietly.

Thor sits leaning against the wall, eyes darting about warily; he looks toward the new occupant of the cave, startled, his hand reaching for a weapon that is not there.

"Looking for your hammer?" Loki asks, encasing the meat in a block of ice—all but one piece, which he begins to eat, watching in amusement at the look of revulsion on his captive's face. "I left it where I found you."

"What do you want?" Thor's words are level.

Loki does not answer. He takes his time eating, but when Thor begins to move stops him with a blade of ice against his heart. "Do not think to escape," he hisses. He steps back slowly. "Even if you killed me, what then? Will you make your way in the wilderness? You would be dead before the day is through. You would be dead now, were it not for me."

"I thank you for that," Thor says at last, as though unsure of what to speak. "But I wish to know why you have saved me. You think me your captive—why not leave me to die?"

"Do you think I cannot find use for you?" Loki laughs. "What if I said I was merely… curious? A traveler such as you rarely finds himself in a place such as this. I have lived here unbothered for many years. What brings you here now?"

"In truth, I was looking for someone," Thor answers. "I heard there was a hermit living in these mountains and thought…" he looks down at his hands and sighs. "No matter what I thought. You are not he."

A silence descends upon them, then; one the more silent for the unusual sound of voices in the cave, the low rhythms of speech. Loki had spoken to himself, in the beginning; to ease some of the emptiness that filled the air, but had long since ceased, content to listen to the ever-present wind.

And now all of that is disturbed, and he finds himself wishing for conversation.

"Who is this you speak of?" Loki asks. "And why do you pursue him so?"

"You will not believe it," Thor answers, reluctantly.

"I believe many things," Loki counters easily.

And so Thor begins. "I am looking for my brother."

Loki hides the bitterness that fills him at those words with skepticism. "Your brother? In Jotunheim?" Loki raises his eyebrow incredulously. "What, has he been kidnapped?"

"No… he is a Jotun, as you are."

Loki laughs. "And you expect me to believe this tale?"

"It is truth," Thor says. "He was adopted."

"Adopted." Loki's tone is cold, flat.

"Abandoned," Thor says. "Found after the war. We grew up together. Do not think our bond is less strong that we are not blood." He twists the edge of his cape as he speaks, eyes turned toward the ground unseeing.

"We have not spoken in a long time. I had hopes that perhaps…"

And he stops there, as though not sure what to say. As though whatever the end of his speech is, he has concluded in his head, forgetting his audience.

"Perhaps what?"

Thor starts, pulled out of his reverie. "I do not know," he says at last. "We parted on unhappy terms—I only hoped to talk with him again. I though, mayhap with time between our follies we could speak more clearly."

"And do you wish to bring him back with you, this brother of yours?" Loki watches for the answer. He expects Thor will evade the question—after all, he is, to his knowledge, speaking with a stranger.

But the answer surprises him. "No," Thor says heavily. "Not that I do not wish that more than anything—but I fear too much has happened for that ever to be possible."

"You are intriguing me more and more, with these answers," Loki says.

"I should not go on…" Thor answers uncomfortably. But then he frowns. "Surely you must know who I am?"

He meets Loki's eyes.

"I have my guesses," Loki says. "You are Thor, are you not?"

Thor nods.

"And your brother—Loki, the traitor."

"He is not a traitor," Thor defends quickly. "If that is what you have heard—he is not. It was not like that. He only wished what was best for his people."

Loki does not say that the younger prince was never an Asgardian; he does not say that the younger prince has never held Jotunheim's best interests in his heart. Instead he says only, "Treason still, no matter how good the reasons given."

Thor shifts uncomfortably. "I suppose," he says at last. "I have forgiven him long ago."

"And has he forgiven you?"

Thor opens his mouth, but hesitates, distress in his eyes. "I fear not," he says. "Perhaps he never will. It is his right. I have harmed him as much as he I."

And now Loki cannot say anything—does not _want_ to say anything. Wishes he had left Thor to die, wishes Thor had never come on his foolish quest, wishes he could cast him out without sentencing him to the same fate he was saved from.

"Oh." His voice is quiet, and much too late; such a simple word, he fears his thoughts stand bare upon it for Thor to see.

"If I take you to an open place, can your gatekeeper find you?" Loki asks, eventually.

Thor startles, confused at the abrupt turn of the conversation, but answers. "Yes—if I call for him he will hear me."

"So do so."

"But Loki—"

"Will not be found if he does not want to be. You have less hope of finding him than of killing yourself."

Finally Thor nods. But when he stands, his face is puzzled. "You're letting me go?"

"Are you dimwitted?" Loki asks cuttingly. "Did we not just speak?"

"I—no, I—" Thor begins to answer, but then a strange look comes over his face, and he stares at Loki with a question on his tongue.

But Loki says nothing, and eventually Thor asks only, "Shall I go now?"

Loki leaves the cave without a word, and Thor follows; they climb for a few short minutes, Loki aware all the while of the cold as he has not been for some time. But Thor does not seem like he will keel over and die quite yet, and they come to a high place. Then Thor holds out a hand, and Loki can hear it whistling though the air—Mjolnir, coming to his call.

But then he hesitates, hammer still in hand.

"Well?" Loki asks.

"If you knew my brother," Thor says, quietly, eyes tracing his hammer as if uncertain of anything else, "What do you think he would say to me?"

Loki weighs his next words. "He would tell you to stop looking for him," he says at last. "And stop worrying, for he is fine."

Thor swallows, thickly. "Then that is all I need to know." He looks up again, into Loki's eyes. "Goodbye…" he pauses, and Loki feels the next second lengthen into the sound of heartbeats, keeping time slowly. "…Thank you."

Loki says nothing. He watches as Thor steps away, looking up into the sky. He takes a deep breath, and calls out Heimdall's name.

Soon, there is nothing to mark there was ever another there than twisting patterns in the snow, and footprints, already being swept away.

* * *

Other note: just pretend it makes sense that Thor somehow doesn't recognize Loki for the longest time. There is no good explanation for it.

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End file.
